


She

by Caelucere



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Unrequited Crush, all hop on the pain train!, onesided feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caelucere/pseuds/Caelucere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's an easy way to say "I'm so glad that you're in my life because you've somehow managed to change it for the better just by being everything to me"?<br/>"I love you," probably, but she'll never say it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Know Thine Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was initially going to be a oneshot? But I was writing it and it was starting to look like a behemoth so I figured it's better to break it down into short but sweet chapters.  
> Now, fun fact, I'm Junkmetra trash and [Your Body is a Weapon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7072693/chapters/16076629) happens to be my drug, but a certain song gave me an idea and it just wouldn't quit so have this hot mess of a fic.

Hana insists on accompanying Lúcio on the way to the briefing. To use the word “escort” would make it sound like a mission, something formal and professional. But that isn’t what it is, and they both know that, even if it remains unspoken. Sure, Lúcio is her co-worker, and she’s almost certain that he would opt out of attending that meeting altogether if given half the chance, and the moment the rumours had been confirmed Soldier: 76 took her aside and murmured that she should keep a eye on the DJ - but it’s not like that. It’s important that Hana is by his side. She’s moral support more than anything else.

It’s strange. He’s usually such a cheerful person, the team’s firefly who’s always got the most contagious of smiles on him. But for the past few days he has been remarkably different. It started as slight tension, hidden behind jokes but so painfully obvious. By this point it has evolved into moodiness, borderline brooding. Hana glances at him as they walk together in silence and his jaw is set grimly, his gaze looking onwards, like he’s about to march into battle rather than a meeting. In fact, she’s seen him entering deadly situations with more mirth than now, and once again she questions exactly how much resentment has been brewing within him for all this time.

He must notice her watching him, because he glances over to her. Hana offers him a smile – hopeful, pleading – and although he half-heartedly returns it the tension remains thick, choking. She frowns before finally speaking.

“Please don’t –“ she pauses, at a loss as to what she can say for fear that whatever warnings might become a self-fulfilling prophecy, before speaking cautiously, “ - don’t do anything rash.”

Her best friend sighs, and the intense mask cracks to expose his weariness. Holding grudges must be so exhausting, she thinks. It makes him look far older. “I wish I could promise you that.”

Hana takes a step closer. Her arm brushes against his; a show of solidarity. “She’s only a representative.” She reminds him, quietly. He looks away from her, glaring at the plain watchpoint wall with such intensity that his gaze could bore holes in it.

“No. She’s their top agent. You know that she conveniently happened to be right by the favela when the explosion happened? You’ll never be able to convince me that she’s innocent. And here she is, in an organisation that’s meant to be filled with heroes. It’s a joke.” He almost spits out the last word, the ‘k’ sound at the end being harsh and guttural. It’s deeply unnerving.

At that point they arrive at the meeting room doors, and Hana feels cool relief wash over her. There would be no use in attempting to convince him, she knows that. They care about each other, they’re close, but there are certain topics that they both know the other could never endeavour to really understand and as such they are rarely, if ever, discussed. She’ll never know the true extent of the suffering in Rio; he’ll never have nightmares plagued by an omnic that’s so large that he can never escape its shadow even in his mind’s eye. Everyone in Overwatch has their own demons, the memories that keep them up at night.

Unlike Hana, however, Lúcio’s is not lurking beneath the sea on the other side of the world. She’s on the other side of the door.

The mech pilot enters first. They’re among the last ones to arrive, and as she opens the door the already hushed murmuring fades to near silence. There’s not a single member of Overwatch who isn’t aware of the potential for this meeting to go horrendously wrong, and the moment they notice the pair awkwardness and anticipation starts to stifle them. Only one voice continues to speak rather than whisper, and unlike usual it’s not peppy cockney. The tones are low and rich, but controlled and professional. It’s like a report, not a conversation.

“If it would not be too much trouble to have a desk of my own in the workshop, I do believe that it would be beneficial to –“

Hana follows the voice to its source. The speaker has her back to her, but she sees white and purple and does the basic maths. Lúcio seems to have reached the same conclusion, because she feels him tense up and instinctively her hand rests on his elbow as she automatically guides him to sit down, barely paying attention to anything but their new arrival. She knows there are more important characteristics to search for and analyse, but Hana can’t help but marvel at her hair. Dark, wound into a neat bun, it shines under the fluorescent meeting room lights. Hana hardly even hears what she says, but the voice draws her in.

Once the room has died down to silence, the woman turns around finally, having finished her conversation with Winston. Hana’s attention is immediately drawn to her eyes. They are molten topaz and gold; they are deep and astute and utterly engaging, and they roam over every agent sat down in the room with a keen gaze. It is obvious that she does not miss a single detail about them, that she has already read every file down to the last syllable. Yet she maintains a stony calm, even if her eyes do linger over Lúcio for a few milliseconds longer than the rest of the group and Hana sees them narrow ever so slightly. Still waters run deep, she thinks, and only from that roaming look can she tell that this woman contains oceans. Hana is so distracted by her that doesn’t even realise how much she has disconnected from the situation around her until the meeting has already begun, and it takes several blinks to return her mind to the present.

She only half-listens to Winston explaining that, as part of Vishkar’s investment in the recalled Overwatch, Symmetra will be adding her expertise in hard-light construction to their combined skillset; that she is currently on sabbatical from the company in order to make such a contribution, and is acting as a representative rather than a liaison; that she will have a section of the workshop reserved for her constructions and experiments (Torbjörn coughs blatantly at that, but everyone pretends not to notice).

Every single word that the gorilla says is cautiously chosen. Winston is a scientist, not a poet or a diplomat – he is usually to the point, concise and clear, refreshingly matter-of-fact. But his introduction is so tentative, so many phrases that sound like empty rhetoric, and everyone in the room except Symmetra seems to sense how different it is to his usual manner. As it carries on, the tension ramps up. Lúcio’s practically vibrating in his seat, and Hana prays silently for it to end before he explodes and the situation makes _ugly_ an inadequate adjective.

Eventually, Symmetra is allowed to speak herself. She coughs, stands up, brushes hair out of her face, dusts down her Vishkar blouse. Even though every action feels uncannily like stalling and Hana desperately needs this meeting to come to an end as soon as possible, she can’t help but be drawn to each little movement this woman makes. Even in her habitual gestures, there’s a kind of elegance and control that rules her motions and make them seem so much more noteworthy.

“Greetings, agents of Overwatch.” She starts. Her hands are delicately folded in front of her, but Hana’s keen eyes (that she’s faintly aware are being far too obvious in their attentiveness) notice her nails digging crescent moons into the skin. “My name is Satya Vaswani, but you may refer to me by my professional moniker of Symmetra. I look forward to co-operating with you as an extension of the Vishkar corporation, so that we may work together for the sake of a better world.”

Hana’s hand shoots out to Lucio’s elbow, gripping it tightly just as he looks about to leap up. He has all the coiled tension of a tiger about to pounce, and although she knows that her friend is not a violent person she fears that in the heat of the moment he could easily do something he’d regret later. She turns to fix him with a stern stare – not pleading this time, but warning; his eyes are ablaze with indignation, but just then the agent sits herself down again and Winston, either noticing the silent confrontation or simply sensing the thick tension in the room, hastily dismisses the meeting, deciding to leave the three other, relatively minor, points on the agenda for a later meeting. Hana cautiously releases her grip on Lúcio and he’s up in an instant and heading for the exit barely seconds after Winston is done speaking. Hana is forced to follow him with some reluctance.

Looking over her shoulder as she goes, she notices that Symmetra is watching them, eyes intensely scrutinising every detail on offer. It would make sense with Lúcio – there’s no way that she doesn’t know who exactly who he is, what he’s done and what crimes Vishkar could have him sentenced for should they throw their entire legal weight at him – but Hana can feel herself being picked apart under the architech’s gaze. It is not an unsettling sensation, per se, but she suddenly becomes hyperaware of every single tic, every habit of her physicality that Symmetra has no doubt spotted and already analysed by now.

Unsure of what else to do, but desperate to at least come off as vaguely welcoming, she offers a weak smile and a thumbs up. The Vishkar agent’s look is perplexed, to say the least, her brows gently knit into a frown and Hana fears that is all the response she’ll receive, but eventually she nods in acknowledgement. Hana wants to wait and find out more, but by then Lúcio has already rounded the corner and released his pent-up diatribe, so she closes the door and sprints down the corridor in order to catch up with him.

* * *

 

She knows this woman has done some terrible things. Lúcio has described it in great detail – the enforced curfews, the armed patrols, the cramped sweatshops, the microcosm of a police state that Vishkar nearly turned the favelas of Rio de Janeiro into. Hana is an intelligent young woman. She knows that Symmetra’s skills in combat and espionage must have come from somewhere, and that her cool gaze shrouds a shrewd analytical mind. It would be foolish of Hana to dismiss the possibility that, despite the disclaimer of her sabbatical from Vishkar, she could still have an ulterior motive. The safest course of action would be to distance herself from the architech, trust her friend’s warnings and stay away from her. Hana can smell danger from a mile off.

However, she can’t help but watch her. Hana tries to tell herself that it’s exactly the same as the way Symmetra gazes at the rest of the team – she’s being wary, keeping an eye out, watching both her back and Lúcio’s. She’s had military training and knows better than to let her guard down. Best to know her enemy.

Yet all Hana seems able to notice is how her enemy’s right eyebrow arches whenever she tries to hide her amusement. How whenever she is in the same room as Lúcio she appears to chew the inside of her cheek, for it depresses slightly and shows off how elegantly angular her cheekbones are. How whenever she blinks her eyelashes seem to tap lightly against said cheekbones.

It’s frustrating, because she wants to learn facts, she wants evidence, but every tiny physical aspect of Symmetra distracts her. Hana knows she’s a danger, and she should either watch properly or look away entirely, but she just can’t stop staring at her in a way that is entirely unproductive.

It is on a mission, baking under the hot Egyptian sun, that Hana first watches Symmetra weave a turret out of thin air. Her hands dance to an unheard music; light and reality spin in the air as she conducts them, bends them to her will, forming a shining mesh between her fingertips. It’s like watching a goddess of creation at work, and Hana shifts so that her nose is almost pressing against the window of her mech, trying to see _how_. Symmetra’s wrists twist, further complicating the bright shape, before a flick of her hands causes a bright white turret to form on the wall in front of her. The whole process could not have taken more than a few seconds, but Hana wants to see it again and again.

“That’s rad.” She murmurs, aware of how brutish a description it is compared to the elegance that she has just witnessed. The architech hears her, glancing over her shoulder, frown lines creasing her forehead.

“That’s what?”

Hana suddenly feels very sheepish, and tries to look busy tending to something at the controls of her mech. “Rad. Like, cool. Really cool. Making stuff out of light? That’s cool. Of course it is.” She’s infinitely grateful that she’s not streaming currently, because that must have been one of the most un-D.Va sentences she has ever gabbled.

Yet when she glances up, she sees that Symmetra’s right eyebrow is quirked up, and feels a warm flush of satisfaction seep through her core. What’s more, the corner of her lip twitches into the faintest ghost of a smile, and the warmth envelops her entirety.

“In which case, your mecha is also… rad.”

The response is enough for some of D.Va’s confidence to start taking control again, and she cracks a smile as she leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. This is all for the sake of getting to survey a potential threat, she tells herself. Know thy enemy. Keep your friends close and your potential-enemies-who-happen-to-be-really-intriguing closer. That sort of thing.

“So, what do you do on your days off?”

Yes, just a normal interrogation question.

Symmetra, who seems to be just beginning to weave a second turret out of thin air, pauses in her movements to look over at Hana again. Her expression does not shift an inch as she asks, “Pardon?” and the light framework collapses into nothingness.

D.Va shrugs. “Like, what do you do on days when you’re not working? Like, I’ll game in my free time, but if I have the whole day then it’s totally worth a movie marathon. What about you?”

There is silence. It stretches out for a long time, before Symmetra turns around and once again begins to form the shape of a turret between her hands. She doesn’t speak, instead being entirely focussed on her work, and Hana wonders if she’s forgotten about the huge candy-pink death machine next to her before she spares one golden-eyed glance in her direction. “I believe that you would be most useful on the front line. Correct?”

Hana wants to ask more, wants to pry further, but she takes the not-so-subtle hint and decides that doing so would be less than wise. It's with more than a small degree of reluctance that she and her mech leave the architech to her work.


	2. Cloudless Climes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana invites Symmetra to join her on her day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on waiting until the next chapter was done before posting this, but my computer freaked out and I lost my word count, so instead I decided to post this now to avoid letting myself lapse into delay, particularly since it's not that long.

Hana lounges in the hangar, updating various official D.Va social media accounts from her phone, elbow deep in a bag of some budget British snacks that Lena got in town rather than her usual choice of rice crackers (or, after Lúcio introduced her to them, the cheesy wonders of Doritos.) Supposedly they’re prawn cocktail flavoured, but Hana can’t help but wonder what kind of prawns the British people are being fed if this is what they think seafood tastes like. Still, the taste isn’t wholly unpleasant, and although she’s careful to constantly glance up she’s still somehow caught off-guard when Symmetra enters the hangar and she’s covered in crumbs with a mouth full of soggy potato.

Symmetra tilts her head to the side, perplexed, as Hana attempts to swallow her mouthful, choking with the effort, and brushes her shorts down with dust-covered hands that only seem to make matters worse. It’s the kind of embarrassing situation that D.Va would never be caught in, but unfortunately her civilian persona is remarkably less suave, so she flounders for a good stretch of time before finally being able to speak.

“Hey! Glad you could make it.”

The Vishkar agent folds her hands in front of her. It is mid-May in Gibraltar, and whilst it is still technically spring the day’s warm spell of weather has proven that the Costa del Sol is suitably named. As such, Symmetra has traded her usual businesslike uniform for a plain ensemble, a short sleeved white blouse and a beige midi skirt. It’s a simple combination, but on her, with her constant elegance, it looks exquisite – Hana thinks, with only a slight pang of envy, that Symmetra must be the kind of woman who can make any outfit look sophisticated. She stiffly tucks a loose strand of hair back into place in a tight bun.

“For what purpose did you summon me?”

Hana channels her confidence and flashes the woman a grin, stowing her phone away in the pocket of her shorts, tossing the now empty packet into the nearest bin (resisting the urge to fist pump when it lands perfectly) and standing up to meet her. Even with Hana’s thick-soled sneakers, Symmetra is around an inch or so taller, aided by her impeccable posture, and Hana straightens as much as she can to compare.

“You’ve got nothing else to do today, right?”

Once again, Symmetra’s face contorts into an expression of confusion, but she replies with complete calm in her voice. The mech pilot can never settle on whether she is an open book or entirely unreadable – closer to the latter, probably. The only fact that’s obvious is that she is intelligent, intensely so, and that beneath the surface there is an inconceivable amount happening. Enough for one to know that she is certainly thinking _something_ interesting, to make one want to learn more, but too distant to be properly comprehended. “Yes. Your note requested that I keep the day free for your task. May I ask what that is?”

Hana reaches into her back pocket before pulling out a set of keys to a cacophony of jingling and clinking. She waves them in front of her proudly before retrieving the one key she wants from a cluster of tightly-packed charms. “You’re going to have a day off!”

The look she receives in response is utterly incredulous, and her voice is entirely deadpan save for a decidedly icy edge, but Hana sees visible tension at the proposition, as if she has been drastically caught-off guard with no idea of how to react. “This is the important task for which you required my services?”

She gives the woman her most charming smile, the one she’s won the hearts of fans around the world with, placing her hands on her hips in an attempt to appear confident. Secretly, she fears that Symmetra will prove impervious to the usually unstoppable force of D.Va’s charisma – she’s so coolly distant, a far cry from starstruck. In reality, she hadn’t quite prepared herself for rejection. She isn’t even entirely sure what she’s doing, or why she’s doing it – she’s an independent young woman, and whether or not Lúcio approves of what she does is never going to stop her from doing the thing in question, but she’s almost certain that there’s some form of betrayal in what she’s endeavouring to do. Yet it all feels periphery to her impulse. She looks at the woman in front of her and, try as she might to remind herself of her almost certainly shady activities, all she can see is someone infinitely fascinating who deserves some time to kick back and relax.

If Hana was to be completely, totally honest, she’d stop making excuses and say it how it is: she wants to get to know Symmetra.

“Yep! I always give myself a day off on Sundays, and I wanted to check out the town a bit more, and what’s the point of a fun day in town without good company?”

Symmetra tries to stay unamused, and if she was in front of anyone else she might have been able to fool them, but this is the girl who’s made a concerted effort to learn all of her idiosyncrasies, and the moment Hana sees her right eyebrow raise she’s certain that she’s on the home straight. Still, despite the already triumphant grin that has started stretching out across the younger girl’s face, the architech valiantly protests, and her voice sounds like chiding. “I have lots of work to do, you know. Why not ask your friend to go with you?”

The slight inflection on _friend_ seems to lower the surrounding temperature somewhat, enough to make Hana’s smile temporarily waver. Symmetra is composed, curt at the very worst, but there is no mistaking the subtext of what she says. _You’re supposed to hate me. I don’t understand._

It takes a few moments for either of them to decide on a course of action after that. Finally, Hana pivots on her heel and strides over to her car, chattering as she goes, voice cheerfully evasive. “Oh, Lúcio? He’s mixing some music today-“ _(probably)_ “- and whenever I’m around I distract him too much.”

It’s when she feels the soft scuffing of sandals against the hangar floor that Hana knows she’s won. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees Symmetra sighing in resignation as she pinches the bridge of her nose, irritation written clearly in her body language. “If ever again you wish for me to accompany you in your leisure activities, please state so in your message, rather than making it sound like urgent business.”

“It is urgent!” Hana protests as she opens her car door and ungracefully plops down into the driver’s seat. She even took the time to clean her car before this; at least, she’s almost certain there are no lingering snack packets anywhere. “Having days off helps you relax, which increases your efficiency! Or something. You know, it’s hard to work well when you’re a ball of pent-up stress, wouldn’t you agree?”

Symmetra says nothing, but instead takes her seat without any further protest, and Hana’s keys manage to miss the ignition entirely when she spots a slight smile creeping across her lips. Biting her lip, she shoves them in with perhaps more force than necessary, feeling embarrassment at her own distraction creeping up the back of her neck.

* * *

 

They’re halfway round the Rock to Gibraltar, Hana’s hair whipping wildly in the wind. Normally she would blast loud music, revel in the adrenaline and sense of sheer freedom, stop being a soldier and start being a teenager again. But today there is no sound but the breezes. Symmetra sits next to her, gazing out across the cityscape and towards the endless azure blue sea, the forget-me-not sky above it marred only by faintest cumulus lily-white drifts, only occasionally moving to tuck stray wisps of hair back into her bun. She has not said a word since leaving the watchpoint, and a distinct feeling of guilt settles in the pit of Hana’s stomach as she occasionally glances away from the road and sees how tension threads through every muscle of her shoulders and back, right down her arms to her tightly clasped hands. Perhaps she was too forward; maybe she should just go back to the base and leave the architech to her own devices, rather than trying to intrude.

As if sensing Hana’s eyes on her back, Symmetra turns, causing her to start slightly in panic at being caught staring, and fixes her with a golden cat-eyed stare. Hana can’t help but feel transparent beneath it, and the sense of personal exposure is so foreign to someone who’s made her name off a celebrity image. Very few know Hana the way they think they know D.Va, but under Symmetra’s analytical gaze they are but one and the same. There is a brief silence before she speaks, one so solemn and purposeful, and Hana feels her stomach do somersaults as the fear settles in that this will be an interrogation, one she can’t possibly escape.

“I did not know that you could drive.”

Slowly, Hana releases a breath that she had hardly been aware she was holding, and the moment she is done exhaling flashes a winning D.Va smile at her passenger. “I’m nineteen years old, you know! Besides, it would be weird if I could operate a mech and not a car. Really weird.”

Symmetra simply blinks back at her, and Hana feels her bravado fluttering away on the winds even as she stubbornly keeps grinning. The uneasiness wedges itself somewhere between her ribs, and she returns her attention to the empty road so as to avoid eye contact. Once again, she asks herself whether or not this is a good idea, or if she’s going to achieve nothing except making Symmetra view her as a disruptive annoyance.

“I am surprised that you would ask me to accompany you, considering your – associations.”

_There it is,_ Hana thinks, and inside she deflates. It was only a matter of time before the subject was broached, and to be frank she’s surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Considering that she’d known this was coming, Hana has admittedly done a terrible job of preparing for it. There are explanations, of course, ones that are complex and entirely impossible for her to comprehend, much less articulate. She scrambles for a concise, completely logical answer to Symmetra’s unspoken question, but she panics and begins to prattle before she can even properly think through what she’s saying.

“Well, everyone in Overwatch has done their fair share of less heroic work, don’t you think? Like, McCree was in an arms trafficking gang at seventeen. The Shimadas are goddamn yakuza. 76 has probably done some morally questionable things, he angsts about it enough. Hell, even – well, you get the idea.”

She manages to stop herself before she goes too far. You don’t get to be South Korea’s top soldier without blood on your hands, but Symmetra doesn’t need to know the details, and she doesn’t care to recount them much herself.

There is a pregnant pause before Symmetra speaks again. “I don’t understand.”

Hana sighs, glancing at her passenger. “What I’m trying to say is, Lúcio’s done some illegal stuff. And he’s convinced that you’ve been up to some pretty shady shit. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s what you’re doing now that matters most. If Overwatch rejected anyone without a history of spotless moral conduct, it would be just Reinhardt and Mei’s robot buddy.”

It’s sound reasoning, and the idol almost convinces herself. But it’s not just that. _Ulterior motives_ , she tells herself, _hidden agendas_. Keep wary, don’t let your guard down.

“Thank you.”

Symmetra’s voice is quiet, so quiet that Hana hardly hears it over the sound of traffic as they approach the city of Gibraltar, but it feels warmer than the Spanish sun.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry.”

Symmetra screws her eyes shut and massages her temples. “It is… quite alright. You could not have known.”

Despite the assurance, however, Hana bites her lip fiercely as guilt ravages her insides. On the woman’s palm are u-shaped marks, like angry red horseshoes, that even now are throbbing and swelling, nearly deep enough to draw blood. She’d hardly noticed how aggressively her companion was digging her nails in. The one time she didn’t pay far more attention to Symmetra than she should, she managed to remain blissfully ignorant of the fact that she loathes crowds, totally ignoring her borderline self-destructive attempts at pacifying her nerves, and had practically dragged her through what could have easily been the most crammed street on the whole Iberian peninsula in order to reach her favourite game shop. Now that they’ve ducked into a side street, and regret and frustration at her own insensitivity gnaw at her insides.

It’s not exactly empty in this narrow street, and loud English and Llanito drift in from the nearby crowd. It’s obtrusive and seems to be wholly counteractive, and Hana just wants to scream at them all to shut up for just two seconds. The architech runs her hand over the smooth white metal of her prosthetic arm as she looks up again. Hana wonders if the sweat sticking stray strands of hair to her forehead is really a result of the hot weather.

“It is nothing for you to apologise for. It is my own weakness, and I must be held responsible.”

No, no, that doesn’t sound right, and it certainly doesn’t calm the self-deprecating voice in Hana’s head that’s insisting she’s just screwed up any chance she might have had of endearing the Symmetra towards her. She tries, desperately, to conjure up a way of saving this outing so that she doesn’t have to suffer this for the rest of the drive back to the base, and doesn’t have to lie in bed at night cursing her own stupidity and obliviousness.

Then an idea hits her, and a rush of D.Va-standard confidence flushes through her system.

“Follow me,” she says gently, slowly taking Symmetra’s prosthetic hand in her own, leaving time for her to withdraw it if she wishes. She doesn’t, and her clammy palm comes into contact with smooth metal. Strange, she thinks, that it is so cool to the touch on such a hot day, but she doesn’t contemplate it further as she leads her companion away from the high street.

“Where are we going?” Symmetra asks, voice entirely level, having managed to regain her composure so quickly that Hana is envious of her self-control. She debates how exactly to answer. On the one hand, she doesn’t want to spoil the surprise; on the other, it’s only fair to keep her informed, considering what she just dragged her through.

Eventually, Hana settles on a fairly vague hint. “Somewhere pretty.”

The hand she’s holding subtly tightens its grip, barely distinguishable but for the fact that it sends a refreshing thrill up Hana’s arm and down her spine, and she takes the lack of further questioning for acceptance. Looking over her shoulder, she smiles – not a D.Va grin, but one that is soft and meant to be reassuring. “It’s not too far a walk, don’t worry.”

They walk in silence, metal hand in flesh. Even though there’s no real need to hold on – Symmetra can follow easily enough – Hana doesn’t let go, doesn’t even consider it, and her companion makes no concerted effort to free herself either. Slowly, the voices become quieter until the only real sounds are their footsteps and Hana’s nervous pulse. She wants to save this, really; she wants to make it up to Symmetra. The moment she’d seen the marks on her hand, her heart had sunk. Hana is cheerful yet awkward, and as she D.Va is bubbly but brusque – but she cares, she wants Symmetra to know that she honestly does.

Heat radiates off the surrounding blocks, off the pavement. Hana’s palm is slick with sweat, but she clutches to the cool metal of Symmetra’s prosthetic anyway and resists the urge to wipe it on her shorts.

True to her word, it takes less than five minutes for them to step through the gates of the botanical gardens. In contrast to the baking brickwork buildings, the air is cool and fresh; silent save for the gentle trickling of water nearby. Symmetra’s hand falls from her grip as she steps forward, carefully surveying the area around them – the gurgling fountain, the intricate geometric patterns of the tiles that surround them, the colours of emerald and fuchsia, the shadows that dance as the foliage that casts them wave in the gentle sea breeze. It is a scene right out of a painting, with deep vibrancy saturated with all the quintessential romance of the Mediterranean, and now stood in the middle of it she looks like the muse an artist would try to capture in the image. She proceeds slowly, turning her head to examine everything with cautious restraint, and the mech pilot fears that she has once again made a major mistake.

It seems an age before she turns to look at Hana, and once again gracing those already infinitely elegant features is a slight smile. Her topaz eyes seem to glitter, like the dappled sunlight reflecting off the fountain’s flow.

“You’re right. It is very pretty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the following Lord Byron poem:  
>  _She walks in beauty, like the night,_  
>  _Of cloudless climes and starry skies_  
>  _And all that's best of dark and bright_  
>  _Meet in her aspect and her eyes_


	3. Sooner or Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hana is conflicted over where her loyalties lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever because a) my laptop went off for repairs and b) I'm a mess. It was difficult to write but at least it's down now?

Hana can hardly keep track of how the situation develops, but it does. It struggled to put down roots at first, but the moment they are established the branches spread out to cast all around in their shade, vibrant leaves growing and flourishing uncaring of all around them. It seems that, through Symmetra’s acceptance of Hana’s offer of an outing, the gate was opened for _something_ to be born. Now, Hana will admit that she has no idea what that something is, except that it’s the last thing she expected to ever happen. Best friends and allegiances aside, Hana looks at Symmetra and sees someone so wildly different to herself – intelligent, refined, solemn – that it’s a wonder that the architech even tolerates her presence.

But she does, in her own way. When Symmetra is in the workshop, sketching blueprints, adapting devices, literally making masterpieces out of light and air, she tends to work alone – and doesn’t seem to mind it. In fact, the metal clanging of Torbjörn’s work only seems to aggravate her more than anything, suggesting that isolation is what she prefers. Yet she does not reject Hana’s company. Even when she only sits on a stool in the corner, engrossed in some handheld game or snacking like a starved pig, Symmetra never asks her to leave. There is a comfortable companionship between them. No need for conversation, Hana tells herself, although she craves it, desperately wants to get to know her. There’s a lingering fear that she is only being tolerated, that Symmetra doesn’t really want her there but is too concerned with politeness to ask her to leave. The unease bubbles in the pit of her stomach, a constant presence that she can’t quell, but if Hana’s going to be honest with herself she’s too scared to ask. There’s just so much she wants to know; Symmetra is someone so deep and complex, so intrinsically intriguing, but every time Hana approaches one of the real subjects she wants to learn about, her golden cat-eyed stare’s intensity makes her throat dry and her palms sweaty, so she just gabbles about the weather or her game instead, and Symmetra’s attention will return to her work.

Occasionally, Hana will ask more about whatever construction Symmetra is working on, and she will calmly and patiently talk through the schematics and the science of it. Hana doesn’t understand, of course, doesn’t suppose that she ever will, but when the architech talks about her designs her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, with vigour, the tension in her shoulders relaxes and even as she speaks the corners of her mouth twist into a smile of pride. It’s beautiful, to put it simply; it’s so enchanting to see the woman in her element that Hana asks again and again and never even pays attention to the content of the answer. She feels something twisting and wringing inside her and it’s discomforting but feels oddly warm. Hana basks in it.

She doesn’t know why Symmetra abides by her presence at all, and every day she’s conscious that it could be the point where she is finally told to go away. And even if it’s not that, even if Symmetra actually likes having her around, Hana knows that it’s only a matter of time before all of this comes crashing down one way or another, because she’s playing a game where there’s no way to get a good ending. It shouldn’t feel like much of a loss. She doesn’t know Symmetra at all, not really, they’re acquaintances at most. But the thought of somehow losing _this_ , even though she can’t name what it is, makes her chest constrict and that wringing feeling almost squeeze itself – and her – completely dry. Whatever it is, she likes it, she’s grown desperately attached to it, and that’s what makes her abandon all allegiances that she’s supposed to have.

Hana has a strong tactical mind. She’s a smart girl. She looks at the situation and knows that the only path is disaster – rejection from Symmetra at best, and the demise of her relationship with her best friend at worst.

But the problem is that Hana’s also impulsive. And occasionally, those impulses override her logic, and that is quite a dangerous situation indeed. That’s why she goes back, because instinct says so and she’s a slave to her own whims.

It doesn’t help that she feels like she needs to be there because Symmetra just seems so _lonely._ The woman tends to keep herself to herself, only speaking as necessary, treating everyone with the same businesslike briskness. Maybe that’s the way she likes it, Hana thinks. After all, they are just colleagues. Perhaps Symmetra doesn’t want to mix business and pleasure, has to keep her personal life and her professional one separate; maybe she’s just homesick; maybe the members of Overwatch are so unlike her Vishkar colleagues that she doesn’t want to spend more time with them than absolutely necessary. But Hana can’t help but feel that, whether or not intentionally self-enforced, Symmetra’s isolation must be choking, and memories of a quiet young girl eating every meal alone in the school toilet stalls resurface in her mind whenever she sees Symmetra sitting in the corner of the cafeteria. Everyone else leaves several tables between themselves and her, a buffer zone, as if she is contagious, and even if Symmetra was really as unaffected as her perfect poker face would have one believe, Hana would feel enough pity for both of them combined. When she walks past Symmetra on her way to join Lúcio, her steps falter; impulse battles with logic and her larynx shrivels up and dies in her throat before she continues quickly in case anyone noticed her hesitation.

 _I’m weak,_ she confesses to herself as she seats herself next to Lúcio, who mistakes her quietness for tiredness and jokingly asks her if she’s been having boss battle troubles. _Too weak to stay away from her completely, and too weak to pick a side._

Hana doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s never been so _torn_ before. Oh, she’s had her problems, more than her fair share, but usually a fake-it-till-you-make-it smile and a brusque brushing off of all her issues manages to delay their impact for another day. And another, then another, and usually that procrastination of actually confronting any issues works. But this is not one of those issues, nor is it a colossal omnic intent on destroying her homeland. It’s one issue she honestly doesn’t know _how_ to tackle, and she’s aware that the longer she delays the more catastrophic the outcome is likely to be but she’s too scared to take the plunge like she’s always done before.

What makes Symmetra so different? That, she can’t say.

* * *

 

Hana had thought that Egypt’s baking heat would be the worst she would have to endure in Overwatch, but as the scorching Sahara sun all but sears her mech, she laments how she has been proven so very, very wrong.

As she wipes dripping sweat from her brow, the heat being most helpfully magnified by her mech’s windshield, she curses the fact that they didn’t finish the job back at the Temple of Anubis. It feels like she is in an oven, and she bitterly curses the fact that the mission isn’t even against Talon.

Winston had, in the briefing, emphasised the importance of their endeavour. The group they are pursuing – they call themselves Horus, which she is sure must have some very important cultural significance, but her knowledge of Egyptian mythology is severely limited and although her mech is a wi-fi hotspot she has more important matters to focus on – are apparently responsible for stealing equipment and possibly vital information from Helix Security’s Cairo base. From what Hana can work out, Overwatch are the ones sorting out this chaos as a personal favour to some high ranking Helix operative by the name of Amari, and as an attempt to win over Helix’s support in having the PETRAS act repealed. It’s the same goodwill they are fostering with the South Korean government with her placement, and Vishkar’s with Symmetra.

After being driven out of the Temple of Anubis a few weeks ago, the group seemed to all but disappear until recently. Now they’ve been tracked to a base – and it’s a previously defunct fortress from back in the Omnic crisis– in the middle of a desert, and it’s Overwatch’s task to finish the job. So, in short, Hana understands _why_ they’re trekking through the Sahara desert, but that doesn’t mean that she has to be happy about it.

Tracer was forced to land the dropship several miles away, because the suits they stole give too much aerial firepower to make a safe landing any closer. They had arrived shortly before dawn, with light only just beginning to bleed into an endless inky sky with more stars than she had ever seen in her life, and with a cool night time breeze. But, thanks to their proximity to the equator, sunrise only lasted so long – now it is mercilessly hot, only increasing with time as they trek across a sandy sea to their destination.

Nobody is immune, even those members who come from warmer countries themselves. Unable to skate on the sand, Lúcio has been forced to ride atop her mech for the time being, and if Hana has her mech’s coolers and fans on high blast and is still sweating like a pig then she winces to think of the blistering hot metal he is in contact with. Tracer, her face pale from excessive suncream that hasn’t quite rubbed in properly and mostly covered by giant aviators, blinks from agent to agent, shoving water bottles in their hands and reminding them to keep hydrated. She doesn’t even know how Reinhardt has made it so far in full armour and is still in such high spirits. Surprisingly Mei, still bundled up in her thick parka and boots, seems to be the only one unaffected, cheerfully trooping onwards and producing ice for those who need it.

With Lúcio on top of Hana’s mech, Symmetra is keeping her distance and instead walks next to Torbjörn at the other side of the group, listening silently to the engineer’s ceaseless complaints and only offering curt responses at the most. She is, as ever, prim and poised, and to anyone without Hana’s attentiveness and knowledge it would appear as though both the heat and the fact that her heels are unstably sinking into the sand are not affecting her in the slightest. But even from this distance, Hana thinks she can see a sheen of sweat sparkling in the sunlight, and can spot the way her dress seems to cling that much tighter to her curves. They make eye contact, and Hana gives a nod of support, glad that Lúcio is atop her mech and can’t see the action.

Winston has run through the plan of attack. She wonders if he has noticed that Hana and Symmetra seem to have formed some form of connection, or if Athena has been watching them in the workshop, because he was assigned the two to work together. Torbjorn, Winston, and Mercy are establishing a perimeter on the outskirts of the town, where Symmetra will set up her teleporter base. Symmetra will then scout out a suitable location to open the portal, with Hana serving as her protection, that can be an escape route should the situation become too precarious. Then they join the offense teams, which consist of all the other members.

Thinking strategically, Hana would not assign herself as Symmetra’s escort. Her mech is painfully loud, and the Vishkar agent prefers to keep a low profile. It must be that Winston has noticed their relationship in some way, and has considered it a wise move to build upon their co-operation.

If she’s being honest, it makes her chest devolve into jittery flutters to think of it – both working so closely with Symmetra and Winston knowing about their closeness. Because if he knows, that implies it must be fairly obvious, which means that sooner or later everything will go up in proverbial flames. But for now she contents herself with flitting her gaze towards the other woman every few seconds, sneaking subtle smiles and thumbs up of assurance.

She’ll have to pick a side sooner or later. She chooses later.

* * *

 

They’ve picked a spot, a good spot, in what could have once been a guard station just on the perimeter of the main fortress. Hana waits outside in her mech. It is quiet on the whole – the muted sounds of a distant battle can be heard, but not close enough to be of concern. Hana has faith in her team’s abilities, and if anything she’s itching to jump into the action as soon as possible. At least, she’d like to watch Symmetra at work, see how she elegantly weaves her creations out of thin air. Her teleporter, she hears, is infinitely more complex than the turrets, and Hana can only wonder how incredible it must be to watch her bring that into existence.

But Hana has to keep guard, so she contents herself with imagining it and instead keeps herself occupied by trying to touch up her battle paint, which she’s managed to sweat and smudge down her face. Even as she works, however, there’s a distinct feeling of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach, and the sense that something is hideously wrong with the situation at hand. D.Va is both a celebrity and a soldier, and it’s that second part of her that is distinctly on edge even as the first fixes her appearance. She’s not allowed to stream Overwatch missions against Talon, and even though this group is separate Helix security have requested that she shouldn’t, but there’s a sense of confidence that comes from her appearance being so immaculate, and so she streaks war paint across her cheeks in grim determination and anticipation of _something_ to come.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. Surely Horus have someone patrolling this side? Surely they’re not so disorganised that the whole group went to attack the first offense group, and didn’t even consider the possibility of that being a decoy team? Even as she keeps an eye on her pocket mirror, she flits her gaze to the radar on her mech, to the area in front of her. A part of her claims that she’s paranoid. But she’s a gamer, she knows that if she ever sees an area devoid of enemies it’s because they’re just waiting to pounce when she enters the arena, she knows this is far too good to be true.

A chill crawls down her back. Her stomach drops. And suddenly she realises that the situation is far worse than she expected.

A charcoal streak in the corner of her vision. She leans forward, glances at the blip in her radar, then finally catches sight of what has been flitting around as an insubstantial entity. Black, all black, except for the stark white of a mask.

Hana has never seen Reaper before. Sure, she’s heard about him in briefings, and she would always laugh about how ridiculously edgy his aesthetic seemed to be, even if Winston would sharply reprimand her and remind her of how serious an enemy he was. She’s never considered the possibility of such a ridiculous caricature of a villain being a threat. A prickling washes over here, panic and fear festering in the pit of her stomach. She’s a trained soldier, she’s experienced, but she’s aware of just how many former Overwatch agents have fallen to this killer, how much blood he has on his hands. She’s had her fair share of kills, but this is a stone cold assassin and she can hardly track his movements on the periphery of her vision.

She has three questions:

Why is Talon working with Horus?

Why is Reaper over here?

What is she going to do?

Her fingers instinctively reach to activate her boosters. The teleporter is their main priority. With any luck, if he’s after her, she’ll be able to lure him away from Symmetra’s position. He is already at a distance, and although he’s gaining ground fast she is sure that she can intercept him. She doesn’t know what she’ll do after that – alert the rest of the team and hope that they come to her rescue, probably – but she knows that she can’t let him get to the architech. That’s too dangerous, and while she’s got a candy pink death suit to protect her she’s aware that nothing is going to stop this monstrosity from putting a bullet through Symmetra’s skull.

“Teleporter online. I have opened the path.”

The soft sound of Symmetra’s voice is like an oasis. A solution instantly comes into Hana’s mind, one that will keep her safe, and whilst she knows it’s a gamble the smoke is getting ever closer and she honestly doesn’t have the time to pick and choose.

She reaches instantly for her communicator. “Symmetra, go through the teleporter and destroy it immediately.”

There’s only a few seconds of crackling before she hears a response. “Are you in danger, D.Va? I will come and-”

Hana grits her teeth. She doesn’t want Symmetra to be concerned, now is not the time to be concerned, Reaper is getting closer but is still out of the range of her fusion cannons and she slams her hand to activate the communicator and almost screams into it. Panic is taking hold now, white hot and lightning and searing through her veins as she barks back.

“Get in the teleporter! It’s Reaper, I’ll be fine, get in, Satya!”

She doesn’t miss a second in speaking back, and her voice is calm and resolute, yet firm as a laser.

“I won’t leave you behind. I’ll come and support you.”

It feels like warmth flushes in her veins, entirely unfamiliar and fluttery and hard to define, but within a second that oh-so-warm blood chills when Reaper disappears entirely. No smoke, no nothing, just-

\- just a blip on her radar, right between her position and Symmetra’s, and Hana realises with painful clarity that she was never the target. Why go for the mech pilot when you can take down the Vishkar hard-light architech, the liaison that’s so vital for Overwatch’s future of co-operation with the corporation?

 _I won’t leave you behind_. That’s what Symmetra had said, and Hana decides she won’t leave her behind either.

Moving quickly, the adrenaline coursing through her very being and driving her efficiency, she opens her mech’s cockpit and leans out, cupping her hands to her mouth and screaming at the Talon assassin in front of her.

“HEY, EDGELORD!”

He turns. He turns and points a shotgun towards her and he looks furious, but she’s distracted him from Satya and the teleporter and that’s more than enough. Her heart’s skipping beat after beat, doesn’t feel like it’s working at all. Hana thought that years of fighting a colossal omnic from the sea would make her used to the feeling of having lives depending on her, and accustomed to the sensation of knowing that she could die at any second, but still the blood rushes around her mind and the complete audacity of what she’s doing makes her feel entirely weightless. She hears his voice, raspy and enraged and probably threatening, but she doesn’t even listen to the words as she carries on, reaching behind her to push that all-important forbidden button.

“NERF THIS!”

All the air is forced out of her lungs as her mech ejects her. She crashes face first into the sand. It gets into her eyes and mouth, and even though she’s coughing it out she forces herself to her feet and begins to run. The sands are unstable, she feels like she could fall at any moment, but she runs and runs because they only have a few seconds to spare.

She dimly hears the same rough voice speaking in some foreign language – cursing, she’d imagine – as smoke drifts away. The sound of whirring and hissing cuts through all of her thoughts and deafens her, but she keeps running because if she doesn’t they’re both gone.

Blue and gold appear in front of her, and without a second thought she barrels into her, wraps her arms around her and tugs her into the portal’s glow.

* * *

 

For a brief few seconds, reality is temporarily suspended in a void of cerulean and a rush of coldness.

But those seconds pass, and the next thing that Hana is aware of is the sudden jolt of her landing that knocks the air out of her. The air is warm, cloyingly warm, the area is almost silent except for breathing and heartbeats, and it takes a moment for her to reconnect with her own mind and actually think about the situation. Her blood is still rushing, her legs and lungs still scream from such exertion under such conditions, and it’s not until she actually opens her eyes and sees blue that she remembers how soft her landing was.

Under any other circumstances, Hana would probably be flustered, or apologise, or check to see that the explosion destroyed the other teleporter base so that she knows Reaper won’t follow. But her mind’s in overdrive, jolted by the contrast of peril and safety, and she’s hanging in this hazy equilibrium that means all she can do is roll over, off Symmetra and onto her back, staring up at the fabric of the tent, and laugh.

The craziness of the antic she just pulled off is baffling, and she can’t help laughing in relief. That was just so reckless, and she can hardly believe it herself, and that manifests itself and comes bubbling out of her chest.

She’s alive. Symmetra’s alive. She saved them.

Her laughter stops, however, when she hears a soft giggle behind her, and turns around to see her friend – is it safe to call them friends? – joining in. It is muted, muffled behind her hand, but to Hana it’s the most intoxicating of sounds.

Upon noticing that she’s being watched, Symmetra lowers her hand. Her eyes are molten gold, and even when her chuckles die down a smile lingers on her face that’s brighter than the Sahara sun.

“You just redefined ‘reckless.’” She says, and although her voice is chiding her expression is grateful and it makes Hana feel like she’s weightlessly drifting through the portal again.

She knows this is a high road to disaster. But she likes Symmetra, they’re friends, and she’s not going to let that go because this woman is important to her.


End file.
